Forever Kate
by SusieCues
Summary: Mr. Kaplan moves ahead as planned. What happens to Red? Liz? Agnes? The task force? Katia? New chapters for Season 4 continued. Thanks for reading.
1. Chapter 1 - Forsaken

_"I won't leave you, Raymond. I'll do anything to keep you alive…"_

He'd shot her, but his killshot had failed.

She still lived. How was that possible?

…

Her eyes fluttered open; unshed tears leaked from them. As if falling to earth, the small-boned woman in her seventies, a weapons expert, was coming to in a picturesque patch of countryside where birds chirped, bees buzzed, and chipmunks darted to and fro. The air was rife with irony. She, brimming with expertise of weaponry, and here she was. A victim of weaponry, shot at pointblank range. Her shooter, a man she thought she knew. A man she had stood by, had protected so many times from all manner of mayhem and discovery. An arcane man, whom she'd developed a fondness for. She had never known what exactly his feeling for her were. Not before this atrocity visited on her person. He had wanted to do her in, and he thought he had...

The Concierge of Crime was a man obsessed. His obsession was slavish devotion that transcended all rhyme and reason for a woman, a beautiful, young, unobtainable woman.

A married, young mother, who was still depending on Raymond to bring her baby girl back to her, safe, sound, whole.

What caused this iron-fisted obsession that fettered him? She cringed, remembering his wrath, his vacant eyes and hollow stare when he'd turned on her, shooting her down.

Raymond Reddington. His name pulsed like a faint heartbeat in Kate's brain.

It was sunny in this pleasant meadow, the breeze balmy. Kate was wrecked. Her body felt alien to her, as though it wasn't hers, and yet, this wasn't, by far, the worst pain she had ever experienced. It was pretty close, though. Face down, she grimaced. Disoriented, dazed, drained, severely damaged, but not dead, Mr. Kaplan managed to drag herself over to what appeared to be water. It was water, a lay of it, smaller than a pond. It was very cold to the touch, bracing. She burned with thirst as she tried getting some water to her mouth. She couldn't let herself fade into some dark corner of her mind, or permit the tiny flicker of light in her eyes to go dim.

How was it she wasn't dead? When she glimpsed her gruesome reflection staring back at her, she gasped. Like a wounded animal, which was how he'd left her, she moaned and cried out in unbelievable horror. Her injuries were ghastly; more than half of what she could discern was her face was covered in blood. She couldn't control her hand's jittery movement when she reached out to touch the creature in the water. She was that creature, and she sobbed louder, shattering the silence of the tranquil tract of green earth.

How long had it been since he'd done this to her? Several hours? A day? Days? She was weak and so cold, but warned herself she mustn't pass out. Not again.

Through chattering teeth, she breathed, "Help...help me...please help me." Instinctively, she knew she'd lost too much blood. The water was now dull scarlet. Her precious blood, how to staunch it? Was _his_ bullet still in her? Had it merely grazed her flesh? Even if the projectile had done that, there was much damage. She was covered in blood; her heart still beat, pumping it out of her.

Renewing her effort to focus, Kate resolved that the only way she could do that was to concentrate on Raymond Reddington. Her one-time associate. He had severed that relationship with a pull of a trigger. He was her attempted murderer now.

"Help—help—help…" she wheezed, her voice soft. She could hardly breathe.

He could not forgive her for what she'd done to him. If she survived, would he try killing her again?

 _If I survive_ …

Kate erased the 'if' from her mind.

 _I will survive!..._

"You did this to me, Raymond. Never, never again." Kate tried raising her voice. "Help…help…help me." She'd die another day; not today. According to him, she richly deserved this payback. There'd been no changing his mind. He'd pulled that trigger, wanting her dead, making his wish a reality.

But, he'd failed. By some inscrutable miracle, she was still here, breathing what she could of this rarified air. Her battle to breathe intensified. Determined she was to win the battle. Her will to survive, insurmountable.

"I suppose you consider my membership in your syndicate terminated, Dearie," Kate squeezed through clenched teeth. She attempted to shift herself on her side, but the ruthless pain was far too great. Was her bleeding out slowing down? Her smirk wry, she muttered, "So, you'll leave me to dispose of my own body this time. Is that what you think? Clean up after you, as always, the mess that is me, eh? Well, so sorry to disappoint." She grimaced more acutely as fresh misery racked her. She half-whimpered, half-spat, "We've known each other—"

Her choking cough silenced her. Her head dropped. She sagged, her countenance inches from the stained pool. Careful not to overexert herself, she regrouped her thoughts, intent on keeping still. Having calmed herself, Kate rallied.

"Raymond, Raymond... Ah, there you are. I can see you as clearly as I see glint rippling on the water. Y-yes…yes…there you are."

He wasn't smiling, he wasn't laughing. He stood, towering over her, just staring at her in her mind's eye. Was he gracing her with his hypnotic presence? A faint, weak smile materialized on her lips.

"Raymond, you could have changed your mind. I only tried to save her from you. You've gone mad, quite mad, you know...," Kate murmured, closing her eyes. "It's so peaceful here." A peacefulness that gripped her in its overpowering embrace. Was she going to die?

She pushed the air out of her lungs and sighed, "Dearie…you didn't have to do this," and for a spell, fighting again to breathe as normally as she could under this dire circumstance.

Her thought patterns flowed and ebbed. She wrestled with herself as she teetered betwixt life and death.

 _Keep breathing, keep living...keep breathing, keep living._

The mantra went on and on, keeping her from slipping into that greedy abyss where life did not exist.

But, she had miles to go before she slept. No one was putting her in a grave just yet.

"Robert Frost," slid past her lips. Kate slurred the poet's name again, as Reddington's name whirled around in mind. Old memories haunted her. "Raymond, Dearie, a-are y-you h-here?"

No, she wasn't dreaming. She thought she was, but she wasn't. She heard the dog. Some dog, with a powerful bark, was yammering in the distance. A strong, immediate chill coursed down her spine, and she praised goodness that she wasn't paralyzed. Again, the dog barked, nearer this time. She listened with all of her might for the footfalls of the dog's owner. If the dog was out alone, scenting blood, would it attack her? Then, before she could twitch, the animal she glimpsed was a Rottweiler. The powerful dog was yipping, snuffling and snapping over her half-dead body. Mercifully, it didn't sink its teeth into her.

The next time Kate came to, she was aware that her body was strapped to some makeshift stretcher. Bound fast, she was being dragged along through the woods by someone. The woods seemed to press in around her from all sides. She heard the woofing Rottweiler keeping pace with its master.

Who might that be?


	2. Chapter 2 - Healer

The warty, tenacious frog in her throat felt like a bull, eating up her words, making speech close to impossible. Bully, the bullfrog didn't appear to be in any hurry to release his fierce grip anytime soon. Words would form in her mind, but when she tried uttering them, the big, bad bullfrog would devour them. Shame on him; the critter had an insatiable appetite. Kate's coughing fits weren't stopping, and that mean, nasty frog wasn't going anywhere.

Kate's long-haired caretaker... _how old was he_ , she had fallen to wondering. Well, whatever his age, she knew the kindly man, at least he seemed kind, was waiting for her to say something, anything, as he tended to her.

From what Kate could tell as she lay upon this bed, he lived alone, save for his dog that had licked all the blood off her hand. Then, after the blood had run out, the dog still came around, and if her hand happened to be hanging off the bed, the animal would lick it anyway, maybe hoping more of her blood would appear from somewhere. She'd surely bled enough to perhaps have him think so. Kate wrinkled her forehead, straining to think if the man had told her his name, or the dog's. She drew a blank. Even if he'd identified either himself, or his frisky dog while seeing to her, she may have forgotten what those names were. Her mental state was far from coherent. Her memory resembled a patchwork quilt. Pieces were distinct, while the majority of short-term recollection was sketchy amid the fuzzy scape of consciousness. Having a name to go along with his weather-beaten, craggy face would suit her. She knew lots of people, in her checkered experience. Was it possible she knew him, a kindred spirit, now a waif-like phantom of his former self, who'd gotten lost in the shuffle of life?

She sneezed several times, triggering fresh, pitiless pain knifing through her sore, stiff body. She wasn't running a fever. She would have preferred it to feeling so cold. The guy had piled five blankets on top of her, like they were helping. Maybe one more might do the trick, but Kate doubted that.

Thus far, he'd fed her soup, and terrible fare it was. It reminded Kate of her uncle's 'mystery consommé,' which could have passed for aged piss warmed over. As the adage went...'beggars can't be choosers,' so she didn't turn her nose up when the old guy ladled his brand of nourishment into her mouth.

Trembling atop the bed, Kate realized master and dog had returned from who knew where. Their habit seemed to be leaving this gloomy, light-dappled place, and staying away for long periods of time. An aura of foreboding hung over this drafty place with its drab sticks of furniture and creepy acoustics. How far away was she from where Reddington had shot her? En route to this place, she hadn't been able to determine that, nor in what direction they'd traveled. Instinct niggled that she was somewhere deep in this forest.

He was standing close to the bed now. Kate felt herself shrink, not in fear exactly, although her preoccupation with what was coming next thrummed beneath her skin.

"You're a toughie, Darlin'," the geezer capriciously muttered, more to himself than to her, Kate speculated. Forlornly, he rasped, "Shame about your face...you're a pretty thing." Again he told her, as he'd told her before, "You've got a lot of grit for a little girl."

He didn't know the half of how tough she was, with a backbone of tungsten steel. Once, she'd had her head cracked wide open in a street. The left lobe close to her temple would always bear the brutal, radiating scar. Having survived that, this was a walk in the park. Of course, she had recuperated in a sanitary, medically-equipped hospital, not a pigsty such as this.

His breath reached her as he stood staring into her face, bearing more of his steaming, unappetizing soup. Through her cracked lens, his smile was crooked. _No more soup_ , Kate thought, _I can't stomach it_. But when he helped her to sit up, which was agony all over again, and he carefully began feeding her, he asked her if she could talk. He asked that often. She nodded. Between sips, she paused long enough, struggling to say until she finally did, "T-thank you..."

"What's your name?" he asked patiently. "I can keep calling you, 'Darlin,' but I'd much rather call you by your given name." He might have thought she couldn't remember it, so he blandished, "It's all right. No worries. Maybe you'll remember later." Spoon-feeding her more soup and softly-spoken encouragement, the man said to his dog, "She likes my soup, so who are you to reject it?"

When Mr. Kaplan pushed out, "K-Kate," she looked pleased with herself, it was an accomplishment of the ages. An audience that her mind fabricated cheered. "I'm Kate. Kate Kaplan." _Raymond Reddington's fool_ , writhed in her brain, and her grizzled new friend gave her a warm, commensurate smile that spread over his face like silk.

She had her fill of his unctuous concoction, and he let her rest, but not before he asked her again: " _Are you sure no one's coming back for you_?"

Three hours later, she awoke, startled by the vivid, ugly dream she'd had, wherein she relived the events leading up to, and the actual shooting. Sweat saturated her forehead, and she discovered that all of the covers she'd been given, save two, were gone. She felt as if she were floating, falling back to earth upon a cloud. The prism vision of her right eye wavered, and the left eye was watering. In the dream, Red, dressed all in red, blood red, slickly promised her his unfading loyalty. She heard herself promise the same. Than, like a bolt of lightning striking, he angled the gun to her head and laughed like a maniacal fiend when he fired his weapon. She didn't die in her dream, or so she imagined she hadn't. She'd woken up.

Where was Mr. Campbell's, as she'd taken to thinking of him as. She would have much preferred the canned version rather than his misconception of soup. His dog must be with him because there was neither hide, hair, nor sound of him anywhere.

Why not get out of this bed to have a look around the place? _Not a bad idea_ , Kate thought, gearing herself up mentally and physically for the riveting ordeal. She stirred, and hurt worse than giving birth. Her face clouded in misery. Her iron will commanded that she keep going, despite her suffering.

Her glasses were on the night table; going for them, Kate set them on her diminutive face. "Oh-oh," she groaned, a miserable shriek tore from her lips as she fought with herself to rise up and make it to the right side of the creaking metal frame bed. Its saggy mattress listed to the right as she maneuvered to the mattress edge. She was in no shape to leave this setting; her body wouldn't survive the stress of trying to make it through the woods' tangled undergrowth, and she had no idea where this neck of the woods was. If a wild animal happened to come upon her, she'd be their meal. A scrawny one, true, but she intended keeping the little meat there was intact on her skeletal frame.

She shuddered at that grisly thought. No, she'd just have a quick, albeit strenuous look around, and then hop...and that was strictly figuratively speaking, back into bed before Mr. Campbell's and his overly-slobbering cur returned. Gingerly, she set the foot of her right leg, which was encased in its blood and mud-stained, ripped stocking, down on the dusty floor's moldy throw rug. She had to give herself several minutes to collect herself. Even this small expenditure of exertion was daunting. The thought of Raymond Redding having gunned her down in callous audacity galled her to get going again.

Her left leg...it felt as though it weighed a ton when she tried to haul it down to the floor. What was the problem?

The discovery of the ponderous shackle and chain-link tether, looking to date back to the Civil War, jolted the tiny hairs on the back of her neck erect. Gasping in horror, Kate crumpled as the insane idea of his being a- _serial killer_ -sprang to mind. Mr. Campbell's...that's what he was! He was only ministering to her, nursing her back to health, so when he tortured her like a monster, there'd be some fight in her, and he'd like that!

Kate gasped again, shaking violently, cursing Red's bullet for not doing what it had been designed to do. Better she be dead, than suffer mercilessly at the hands of this monster! Once done with her, what was next? Cut her up, chop her into bite-sized pieces and toss her minced flesh in his soup?

More violent shuddering followed those gruesome ideas.

"No, no, no-" Kate moaned tremulously, gritting her teeth as her eyes rolled heavenward. Her breathing was labored. "Help-help me! Help me, please!" she supplicated before collapsing back on the bed. Her swollen, ruined cheek burned underneath the dirty, foul-smelling gauze bandage.

And oddly, her mind anxiously transported her back to when she'd been a little girl. One who used to have a wooly, round-faced teddy bear she would cling to when things went 'bump' in the night. Here, in this uncertain time, and godforsaken place, she reached out for that cuddly stuffed animal, and in this depressing darkness, 'Gafferty, the Great,' which was what she had called him, embraced her, somewhat calming the frightened, little one deep inside.


	3. Chapter 3 - In The Meadow

Reddington spared Dembe a pitiable look while the solemn man with head down prayed. Red continued sipping his luxe wine. He knew his man wasn't praying for him, that would have been a waste of time. Redemption, for him? Out of the question. That shipped had sailed, long ago, and had sunk. No, Dembe was asking forgiveness for himself. He hadn't done what his conscience was browbeating him for. He'd let him kill Kate; let it happen, had done nothing to stop the murder.

"Enough, Dembe, take a break."

Lifting up his head a fraction, the penitent man heeded his padrone's request. "Raymond, I will always ask for forgiveness. I can hope, at least, that it might be granted, one day." Dembe thought about the conversation he almost had with Elizabeth, who'd asked him what had happened to Kate. He'd told her nothing, knowing that Reddington would not like him divulging anything in that regard. Knowing Raymond, he'd see it as a betrayal, and Dembe knew full well what happened to _anyone_ who broke faith with Raymond.

"Well, right now, I'm asking you to stop what you're doing."

From top to bottom, Dembe was all too familiar with that look Reddington was giving him. His padrone commanded his attention. "And do what?"

Sniffing, with a daring smirk, he said, "Take some time away from here. You've been cooped up in this church for too long. I won't be needing you for a while, old friend. I want you to get out, revive your lust for living, not groveling on your knees."

Not even flinching, aware that Raymond was eyeing him closely for any telltale signs of objection, Dembe replied, "Yes, Raymond. A change of scenery is acceptable."

"Take as long as you need," Reddington obliged, pouring himself another healthy measure of wine with a raised eyebrow. "When I'll need you, I'll call."

"Yes, Raymond." Dembe answered in familiar stoic fashion. He studied Reddington's enigmatic facial expression, judging that being away from him for a bit would satisfy both of them. Ambiguity shrouded his face, but resolve galvanized him into action. He had lots of ground to cover, but cover it he would. It wasn't right what Reddington had done to her, and though he'd stolen her life, he wouldn't rob her of a decent burial. The location where Red had led her to was unknown to him, but Dembe was astute. He'd figure it out, once he'd driven back to the spot where Red had told him to wait.

Less than one hour later, Dembe was parking the car, absolutely certain that this was the spot, which was burned into his brain. Why hadn't he followed behind Raymond and Kate? Was he that much of a lackey, incapable of thwarting Red after all these years? Would he have jumped in to save her? Would Red have put him down too? To that last question he'd posed to himself...the answer would be a 'highly likely.'

Raymond would have judged his interference to be betrayal. Assuredly so, and the master of subterfuge and retribution would have left two bodies behind. Dembe removed a body bag from the car trunk and began the trek through the echoing woods. Kate deserved a decent burial, her body not left behind like road kill. Dembe traveled along the same path he remembered Red had taken, his instincts attuned to the task at hand. His eyes scoured the grounds for clues that would lead him to the correct spot. Not too far from where he'd parked the car, he came upon an idyllic, mossy green meadow. An inkling sparked within him, judging that this would be the kind of place Red would pick. The peace, the calm, and serenity would appeal to the violence he'd soon commit. Hunting, he regretted that there was no body to find, but there was a wealth of dried blood, plainly visible, especially on rocks that fronted a pond nestled in the undergrowth.

"Kate..." Dembe looked up, mystified, an unsettled feeling grousing within him. A deep indentation indicated that there had once been a body, but there was no sign of such now. Kate's body, someone else's? He could guess until he was a hundred, and never know for sure. Searching for her remains like this was futile, like hunting for a needle in a haystack. He crouched low, close to the pond and whispered, "What's become of you?" Muttering words of supposition, rubbing his fingertips over the compilation of smooth, lichen-encrusted stone, Dembe pondered. His fingers aimlessly dabbed the pond's cool water; lost in thought, he sighed. Bowing his head, his lips moved, uttering no sound.

The barking of a dog from far, far off pulled Dembe out of his reverie. He discerned from the power, and heaviness of the bark that the animal was big. Continuing to listen carefully, Dembe waited to hear if the animal was coming closer, or moving farther off. Several seconds ticked by with Dembe not hearing any more barking. Dembe frowned, thinking that maybe he'd thought he'd heard a dog, and then suddenly-a man appeared, a grinning man came into the clearing with the big dog barking menacingly at Dembe and snarling.

"Hello, friend...," the unkempt stranger said, sounding amiable enough, smiling haltingly at the tall, powerfully-built, black man. The interloper was a wizened, hermit of a man, that might have been away from civilization for decades, Dembe fell to thinking. "Are ya lost?"

Shaking his head, Dembe responded, "No. Not lost." Mindful of never revealing too much, he went on, "Meditative. City life does not lend itself to quiet contemplation in peace."

"You're right about that, Mister. This is the perfect spot to just get away from all that bustle and noise."

"Do you live near here?"

The stranger arched an eyebrow, giving the impression that the question deserved to be thought over. He took his time before answering, noting that Dembe's impassive face gave nothing away. Was this man here to take _her_ away? He'd be wasting his time. No one was going to find his perfect prize. She was his, belonged to him, owed her life to him. He'd saved her so she could save him from harsh loneliness all these many years. He would fight to keep her. Kill to keep her.

"Not far. Came here to escape overcrowding like you, and decided to stay...for as long as I have."

Dembe eyed the hound that had ceased the intimidatory posturing. He wasn't intimidated; he had a gun, and would use it if he had to. Instinct advised him that this guy was holding back. Like where Kate was?

"Could you take me to see it?"

"Why?" The stranger stared him down, his eyes, craggy around the edges, penetrating Dembe's blank expression.

"Because I'm asking nicely," Dembe tersely spouted, edging his hand for his weapon.

"Well, in that case, _friend_ , follow me..."


	4. Chapter 4 - The Visitor

The old man mistrusted Dembe as they traipsed through the woods that the afternoon light dappled. Pine and beech scents intermingled. The codger led the way. He was acting, pretending he didn't know this man, whom he'd come across in the meadow. His poker-face gave nothing away. He wasn't afraid of this intruder. Why should he be? If he wanted to, he could get him so lost, he'd never find his way back. The codger was full of tricks.

This man was here for her. The codger smiled his crooked smile, which Dembe never saw.

"How much farther is your place?" he asked as sounds of wildlife surrounded them.

"Not much further, friend," the codger answered, slyly glancing at his hound. Master and pet wordlessly communed, their bond strong, unbreakable. Baying, the Rottweiler ran off, diving into a lush thicket of chokecherry shrubs and disappeared. Chuckling, the old man muttered more to himself, "There he goes, after some critter. Fool dog." Raising his voice, he called to it, "Don't go chasin' clear over to the next county. You'll get your fool self lost!" He whistled and the dog instantly appeared, its canine expression seemed to say, 'Me, get lost? Ha!'

The man's twang wriggled in Dembe's ears. He judged the man to be a recluse. Conversation was kept minimal. Twigs continued to snap underfoot. Leaves crunched with the careful planting of feet. This was no time for twisting his ankle in some deep hole. On they walked, the Rottweiler dog always several paces ahead of them. How far had they come? A mile? Two? More? He stopped wondering the instant a small clearing jumped into sight.

Eventually, a little timber-cutter's log shed, nestled amid mighty elms and maples came into view.

Though the setting felt fairytale-like, Dembe hardly expected Bambi would show up. Where was Kate? There was no body. Had she survived? He glanced at the body bag he toted. The old man had his eyes trained on Dembe as he walked alongside him to the shed. A ways off, a crow squawked; the dog's ears pricked up. His interest waning in the cry, the hound clambered up the weathered wooden porch steps and plopped down with a _pfft_.

"Have you seen an old woman in these woods recently?"

The codger looked surprised. "A _woman_ 'round here?" He angled a foot foot on a step. He'd made it sound as though he'd never seen a woman in his life. "An _old_ woman, you say." He laughed with a snort. "Now, what would a woman, young or old being doing out here alone? Doesn't make sense." His pointed look settled on Dembe.

"Have you, or haven't you?"

"No," he lied. "A friend of yours?"

"A woman I know." He rifled off, "She was wearing large, black-framed glasses, a tailored suit. She has thin, light brown hair to here." His broad hand motioned a cutoff at the sides of his jaw. "I'm here to find her."

"How long's she been gone?" the old man asked, his face deadpan.

Tersely, Dembe replied, "About a week or so ago."

"You did say recently. I haven't seen anybody like that." His mind went to his unexpected houseguest chained up in his house. His face remained composed, as uncommunicative as stones.

"No one?" Dembe badgered, piqued. The man lied; he could feel it in his bones.

" _No one_ ," was his swift, flat reply.

Dembe's heated look wrestled with the man's deadpanning.

"Haven't seen anyone, _man or woman_." His demeanor did a one-eighty, he inviting, "Go in, have a look, if y'like. I got nothin' in there 'cept the little I got. And that ain't much."

Dembe took him up on it, wasting no time. The old guy wasn't lying about not having much. The rustic site felt like taking steps backward several decades. A potbelly stove, a turn of the century sink, with a washboard sticking up in it, and a small unhewn table ready for kindling greeted Dembe's eyes. An oblong window, smudged and cracked in one corner, hung above the head of the man's army-style cot. The rickety floor creaked with every step taken. Musty and bleak, this hovel lacked sufficient space for the man and his dog, let alone any company that happened by. Dust motes tangled in the air, and clutter lay jumbled several layers deep. What was wrong with this picture would be too lengthy to detail.

"Satisfied?" the old man put to Dembe, as though haul out his trophies.

"You _live here_?" Dembe never stooped to snobbery. He'd known poverty, and abundance. But, even the poorest people knew how to be sanitary.

"We do," the codger lied, indicating his furry, four-footed roommate with genial eyes. "Cozy, ain't it?"

 _Hardly_ , came to Dembe's mind. Cozy it would never be unless the eyesore were torn down and begun again. He'd seen enough, content to come away from the cloying odor of dirty old man and mutt.

"Thank you for your time, sir," Dembe offered politely. Outside again, appreciating sweeter air, he breathed deeply, filling his lungs.

"You'll get lost unless I take you back. From here to the meadow, things get to look all the same. You'll go 'round and 'round in circles. Might not even end up back here." The codger, moved alongside him. Last year, about this same time, two hikers had gone missing in these woods, and hadn't been found since. The speculation was, something wild and voracious, with steely sharp teeth, had found them first. Although, nothing had ever been documented.

Back at the pond, the codger mentioned, "Think she's lost?"

"I don't know what to think."

"Wish I could have been of more help. Hope you find her..." The liar's thoughts ran to Kate, chained up where he really lived a few miles in the other direction from here. His smile never showed on his face as he continued watching Dembe. If he got rid of him, others would come. She was like him, a liar. He'd asked her if anyone knew that she was here. His motion-activated cameras proved that she'd lied. She'd been with two men on cameral, this black man, and an older white man. There'd been no suicide attempt. But, an attempt on her life had been made. Was he looking for her to finish the job?

"Thank you for your time."

"Don't mention it," the codger relinquished.

 _This man is lying. I know he lies. Kate...where are_ _you_?

The codger's canny eyes never left Dembe as he made his way back to the car. Seated behind the wheel, Dembe noticed the man waving. A hollow gesture, Dembe thought. He waved back, his heart not in returning the action. His dropped his hand heavily to the steering wheel center, regretting what he had failed to do.

Finding her.

His throat throbbed and his muscles ached. When his phone claimed his attention, he answered it. "I'm on my way back. No, Raymond, there was nothing of her to find." He scowled, disagreeing with Reddington. "I don't believe that. She was not devoured by animals. I will find her body."

The call ended, and Dembe backed out of the dirt path, onto the paved road, driving on.

Later that day, as twilight closed in, the codger was warming up more soup for Kate. She needed to use the bedpan she told him. At least he'd emptied it from last time. Looking intrigued as he continued to stir the soup, he posed, "Guess who I found lurking in the woods, nosing around? Searching for you." He tasted his gamey creation, deciding the concoction needed a pinch more salt.

Kate, battling a severe dizzy spell, sitting on the edge of the smelly bed, croaked, "Who?" When did laundry day roll around? Soiled and fusty, the bedding would've made even someone with a strong stomach gag. She touched the bandaged side of her face, upsetting the position of her glasses that threatened to fall from her face.

"A friend of yours…," the codger baited, wagging his tongue like his dog wagged its tail. He rolled his cataract-prone eyes while his graying eyebrows moved up and down, like some simpleton. Pleased with himself, he half-turned, gazing at Kate, then called to his dog.

"F-friend?" Kate muttered, struggling. Images of Reddington sparked. "Fr-friend?" The tickle in her throat tormented her. "Wh-who?" she coughed out.

"Don't know his name. He never said, and I never asked. As sure as you're sitting there, he was lookin' for you. Described you to a tee. Came with a body bag, with a mind to collect your remains."

"W-wh-what did…wh-what did h-he—"

"Look like? Like I need to tell you. You know what he looks like." He humored her, caught up in this impromptu game of cat and mouse. "Tall. Black. Big, athletic build. Heavy accent. Katie. He's the man in the camera." Pausing, the codger sampled the soup again. "What's his name? And the other man's? The dapper, balding white guy." He chuckled, clanging the rusty, stain-stippled pot with the spoon. "Don't pretend with me. Not anymore. Who are they?"

Kate hesitated, unwilling to surrender their names. Why did he want to know? The wise little voice in her head told her to keep her mouth shut. "I…ca-can't—"

"Yes, you can. You remember. C'mon, sweetie, you really should," the codger coddled.

His unpredictable chuckling bothered her, the mockery implied. "I need pri-privacy," Kate made clear. Beads of sweat spanned her forehead. She reeked, needing to bathe, but she'd never allow him to do that to her. Whenever he touched her, she shrank from him, seeing what lurked in those shifty eyes of his.

Coming away from the wood-burning stove, he looked her over. "When you're done, holler."

He and the dog left; Kate sighed, tugging her shackles, maneuvering herself over the bedpan. She welcomed his absence, dawdling on purpose after she'd relieved herself, setting the potty aside. Overbearing, his presence made her yearn for freedom. Grudgingly, she mustered up enough of her voice to tell him she'd finished.

Returning, he ladled steaming soup into her filmy bowl, setting it on the table, then helped her to her dinner. The chain scraped the floor with every step. Before taking his seat opposite her, he fetched a foul-smelling, old rag for washing her hands, then threw it into the sink filled with murky water, which had sat in it for days. Once seated, he dipped the spoon into the bowl, blew on the spoonful a few times, then raised it to her mouth. Softly, he prompted again, "So, Sweetheart, who are they?"

She'd get to slurp once his condition had been met. No information, no food.

Her trembling lips, and watery eyes fixated on the motionless dull spoon that brimmed with lumpy muskrat soup, she croaked, "De-Dem…Dembe. Ca-came h-here?"

"Dembe, hmm. The black man."

Kate's nod was slight. "De-mbe."

"What is that, Dembe...his first name? His last?"

That information was a mystery to her as well.

The puzzled look on her face prompted him to move on. "Who's the white man?" He inched the dull metal spoon closer to her cracked lips.

Before spoon-feeding her a drop, the old man paused and Kate whispered, "Ra-Ray…mond."

"Raymond," her grinning caregiver repeated approvingly. "Good, good. Now, see...that wasn't so hard." He rewarded her with soup.

The struggle raging within herself showed on her face as she gave up Raymond's surname. She said it like a curse. "Redding-ton."

Proud of her, the codger rewarded her with more soup. How much more weight might she lose, the codger conjectured. She was such a thin, pale thing, probably couldn't weigh much more than eighty, maybe ninety pounds, soaking wet.

His lard-laden soup trickled down her sore throat; the more she consumed, the more loquacious she became. Poignantly, she gasped, and breathily reported, "He-he di-did this t-to me..."


	5. Chapter 5 - Adieu

"You've told me you've always wanted a pristine, unspoiled place to live out your days, in peace. So, the acre is yours...for all eternity."

-Raymond Reddington

For such a cloudy start, at least the sun had come out, making the afternoon the better part of the day. The grizzled squatter sat at the table he'd shared with Kate, lost in thought. He'd never told her his name. Knowing his name wasn't important. What was important was the knowledge that, deep down, he trusted her. People who wanted him off this land, he didn't. She wouldn't rat him out to anyone because she owed him. Kate had told him as much. He owed her too. The debt was sizeable. Since her arrival, he hadn't realized how he'd missed female companionship. The conversations with his dog, Figaro, were decidedly one-sided. The discussions he'd had with Kate replayed in his mind as he looked over to his dog, who was standing around, looking as though he needed something to do. The man regretted that the last conversation he'd shared with spitfire of a woman had been their final one.

He'd been so sure she'd wanted to hang around. Share more soup and stimulating dialogue. But, no. She'd taken off, leaving this note of thanks and _adios_ in her wake. The man's eyes rolled back to her message, and staring at it, he wanted to kick himself. He'd gone out for more wood, which she had asked him to get for the fire. The supply was low, and the nights were cold. The fire kept going out often. He'd told her he would have to chop more. He hadn't done so in a while, which explained the low supply. As he had prepared to go out from his makeshift home, a big spider decided to go across the floor. The squatter smashed the life out of it, having told her he and spiders never got along.

His increasing desire to please her had gotten the better of him. He'd made it clear that she wasn't his prisoner, but her going away hit him hard. "Women today come and go as they please," he griped, with a soft twinkle in his eye.

"Yeah, I miss her too, and she hasn't been gone that long."

The minutes ticking by felt like an eternity. He'd grown accustomed to her small, wry voice, her sometimes abrupt manner, her dry sense of humor, and the way she had made herself right at home as soon as she was better. Her assurance that she'd never tasted better soup, despite its heavy consistency and fatty taste.

"Soup in those posh restaurants in D.C. don't taste half as good," had been Kate's kudos. "You should think about distributing this elixir. It's been my tonic...better than any medicine I've ever been forced to take."

Almost two hours ago, he'd come back, finding her missing. His heart sagging in all the wrong places.

Figaro drove his nose into the freshly-washed bed linens for a sniff before jumping upon the neatly-made bed. Before Kate had shown up, doing this was his usual thing. The old man smiled fondly at his large canine. "All yours again, eh, Fig."

Though the old man smiled, he wasn't himself right now. Flecks of the dog's slobber hit the blanket Kate had spread over the bed she'd used, having made sure that there were no lumps nor ridges. No scolding came from the old man. She had laid the blanket and had fussed with it until it had lain rigid. One could have bounced a coin off of it. The big Rottweiler rested his head upon his meaty paws, looking thoughtful, and a little forlorn. Much as his master did. Was the animal reminiscing too? He'd grown fond of licking her hand where it used to hang over the bed as Kate slept. Well, perhaps in his own doggy way, he was taking the loss of someone he'd come to like having around hard too.

Dwelling on the give and take that had gone on between Kate and himself, the squatter heaved a sigh as his eyes misted, living in the not so distant past again.

"I couldn't let you die." His admission, which he'd made many times so far, was easier to admit each time he confessed. He'd said it so often.

"I know. You've made that clear. But, easily, you could have. You weren't the one who pulled the trigger."

"That Reddington," the old man said bitterly, shaking his head while looking her squarely in the eye. "He's a murderer."

"Many times over," she owned up to this man who'd become her friend. What she didn't elaborate on was her role in his world of international collusion.

"He'll do it again, Kate. You said so yourself. He's extremely dangerous. A desperate man. How many times have you said that? You can't let him find out you're still alive. Why risk that? Stay as long as you like."

"Did I say I was leaving?" Kate needled, folding her hands, tapping the table with her left pinkie. The stiffness in her arthritic fingers less severe following the attack. She was recovering, but not ready to strike out, not just yet. She needed a few more weeks before she tried making her way out of here.

Mumbling, the squatter remarked, "You haven't in so many words. Your manner speaks volumes. Your mind and heart are set on going out the door, and down the road." He stabbed at the table with his broad index finger, risking a splinter lodging itself under his skin. His fingernail, long, with dirt underneath it, was gray, the cuticle ragged. "You're strong, Kate, and strong women do what they have a mind to do."

"I'm a woman who has benefitted from your concern, kindness, compassion, generosity...my list goes on and on. I will repay you for all you've done." Her expression firm, yet empathetic, Kate gave him her distinctive smile. "You have a friend in me..."

They'd had that conversation a little over three weeks ago.

He had wanted to say that the best way that she could repay him would be to stay with him in this setting. She would live without the creature comforts she was used to, but there'd be a gentler way of life here for her. True, it was far from idyllic, but it would spare her the danger of discovery from this Raymond Reddington person. The squatter had the uncomfortable feeling that Kate was bent on revenge, and if she sought that, she could very well wind up dead for keeps the next time.

The thought of her being dead pained him.

Nightfall was just several hours away. The squatter wondered where she might be by now. There was only the one main road out of this neck of the woods. Kate probably wasn't one for hitchhiking, but if a pickup truck, or whatever happened by, she'd likely take it, grateful for the lift. His skin crawled, then he mellowed out. The slight woman was a force of nature, he told himself. She'd proven that, having survived what a lesser soul wouldn't have. She'd make her way, and be fine, as long as she didn't set herself on a course of paying back what she'd received at the hands of the man who'd shot her.

That... _Raymond Reddington_.

"Bet the first thing she does is bathe for days," Kate's Good Samaritan told himself and Figaro, offhandedly. Water, although fresh from the nearby stream, and heated up first so she could put the washing up rag he'd given her to use, wasn't the same as tucking oneself into a bathtub to soak and thoroughly purge the dirt. No wonder that infection had lasted for as long as it had. He'd nursed her back to health, but under extremely unsanitary conditions. It really was a wonder she'd survived. "Next, she'll get herself brand new glasses."

How she had taken to complaining about seeing everything through that cracked lens. Distortion did not sit well with Kate, the squatter had actively noted.

Figaro sprang off the bed, padded over to his master, looking at him in such a way as if to convey, 'Are you just going to sit there, and do nothing? She's one of us now! Let's go! The bloodhound in me'll track her down wherever she's gone.'

The man past his prime cracked a weary smile at his pet. "No, Fig, we'll let her be. She goes where she needs to go. And we're where we should be." A wistful expression settled into his face. "Maybe one day..." He glanced at her parting words on paper again. "Maybe she'll come back." He brandished his hands at the dog, signaling for him to come so he could pat his sides, then scrub the sides of his neck. "We'll be here, won't we old friend. At least I hope so. As long as those pesky rangers never find us...we ain't going anywhere."

Figaro wagged his stubby tail, behaving better contented. He sat his rump down, eager for more of his master's firm, loving touch.

* * *

Kate, a tad windblown, but her hand steady, gripped the gnarled walking stick tighter. Grimacing accompanied her every step on the rural road she traveled. She welcomed the blacktop; covering ground was so much easier. Iron will and sheer determination had gotten her this far, over low hills, thankfully, and lush dales. It would be dark soon. She was tiring, but had to keep going, bound for the bright city lights of the nation's capital. Trekking in the middle of nowhere wasn't ideal. She'd come this far, she could make it. There was no other option.

Wait, a vehicle was approaching, coming up from behind. Not turning around, Kate moved forward, always forward, as the vintage vehicle, identifying itself by the profound clanking and squeaking that it made, gained on her.

And slowed down...but didn't stop, not immediately.

Less than an arm's length ahead of Kate, the pickup came to a halt. The passenger side door opened. Decisive action taken, Kate got in. The driver, a light auburn-haired woman, her face plump, her cheeks rosy, her smile was warm. She could have been anywhere in her late forties. Drawling slightly, she amiably asked, "How far are you going?"

Kate deadpanned, turning to her. Her tone neutral, she replied, "As close as you're willing to get to Washington."

"I'm on my way back to Fairfax County, where I live."

Nodding, Kate said flatly, "That'll do."


	6. Chapter 6 - The Revenant

Kate sat up in bed, her very own four-poster canopy bed with a one-piece canopy, its curtains crossed slightly and gathered and wrapped around the dark, wood posts. She was thrilled to be back in it, no longer enduring the bed she'd been forced to recuperate in. Her body ached at the mere thought of what she'd endured. She looked rueful, seeing what little sun found its way into her deathly-still room. Her facial expression spoke volumes. While slipping into the shower, one of so many she'd taken since she'd returned, she hummed. She clapped her hands, watching the soap bubble and slip between her slick fingers. _Glorious, glorious, glorious_ , pealed in her mind. The comforts of home never felt so good. Drying herself off, she slipped her plush robe back on and drifted into her bedroom. Had she been wise to come back here?

Why, for goodness sake, not? This was her home. She wasn't about to go gallivanting hither and thither merely because she'd nearly been killed.

Red knew nothing about her survival. That was to her advantage. If and when she decided, he'd know in a big way that he hadn't succeeded. Anticipation rose up in her, possibilities and options unexplored. Her neighbors knew nothing of what had happened to her. For all that they knew, she'd been on an extended vacation. One she'd never recommend anyone ever take. Since being back, she was keeping the lowest of profiles. Who qualified as inconsequential persons? When necessary, she made the call governing who did, or didn't pose a threat.

So far, so good. Figuratively speaking, she had her i's dotted and her t's crossed. She could afford to proceed slowly, with caution. Raymond had his surprise coming, but not just yet.

Her phone had rung several times since early this morning, but she'd never answered. It was ringing now. She ignored it. It was probably telemarketers anyway, her least favorite species of phone calls. The people whose job it was to make those pitches were no better than recorded messages, as far as she was concerned. They never listened, solely intent on closing the deal. She was dependent on another category of service. Thanks to deliveries from various food emporiums throughout town, she had food to eat, plenty of it. This morning she'd fix herself Eggs Benedict, BLT-with avocado tomato relish, a comfort recipe if ever there was one. Also included on her menu would be lightly-toasted oat-wheat bread, drenched in butter, and as many dollops of lemon-flavored whole mile yogurt as she felt she had to have. Her breakfast wouldn't be complete if freshly-squeezed orange juice were omitted.

She'd weighed herself yesterday, delighted to discover that her weight was increasing. She'd lost a little over 15 pounds. On her slight frame that was cause for alarm. Eating healthy, restorative food, as much of it as she could, was doing its work. She was eating cake too, chocolate buttercream, carrot, Black Forest, strawberry shortcake, her favorite, and not giving it another thought. She had no intention of turning into a porker. When she reached where she felt she wanted to be, she'd put a stop to indulging. Kate was her will. When her will dictated, Kate obeyed.

Breakfast through a while ago, Kate sat in her living room, upon a plush, comfy sofa. She was half way through a page-turner. Her eyes felt heavy. Removing her glasses, she lay the novel aside on the end table nearby as she sighed. The glasses she set atop the book's hard cover. She focused her vision on a window with brighter sunlight streaming through. The plantation shutter filling it wasn't completely shuttered. She heard sounds of action, brio, life beyond these somber, sedate walls where all was familiar, lending a pretense of safety and security.

Her recent harrowing experience shattered any illusion she may have supposed. Freedom from being in danger was fabrication, pure and simple. She'd taken to sleeping with a Glock 43 under her pillow. Her house didn't lack a security system, but having the single stack, 9mm pistol beneath her head gave her better piece of mind.

That night, having taken her shower, and had made herself a comforting cup of Chamomile tea, Kate tucked herself into bed. A thought had nagged her all day. She couldn't get Dembe Zuma off her mind. Intuition kept one idea gnawing at her. She would never believe that he condoned what Raymond had done to her. He just wasn't the sort of man who would countenance such a vile thing. Reddington must have humored him into believing that what he'd done had been warranted, forcing Dembe to live with this malfeasance on his conscience.

How selfish, but Raymond simply justified everything when it suited him.

Deciding this must be put right, before dousing the light on the nightstand to her left, Kate reached for her cell phone that peeked out from one of the puffy beige comforter's partly-shaded fabric valleys. The call a go, she waited with bated breath for Dembe to answer. She waited...waited...kept waiting. Finally, about to end the call, it was picked up.

"Who is this?" _This can't be-she's dead-dead! Someone has her phone, and is only now using it_ , reamed in Dembe's mind. "Your use of this phone is illegal!"

Clearing her throat, Kate answered, her voice finding its way into his ear, "It's me, Dembe. Kate. I did not die. I survived."

"B-but how, Mum? He shot you, said he had to. You were dead."

"I survived," Kate softly repeated, a hitch underlying her voice. Following a meaningful pause, she requested, "I ask a favor."

Only too glad to comply, Dembe replied, "Whatever it is you ask, I'll do, Mum. I won't refuse. But, before you ask, I must know... How can you still be alive?"

Chuckling lightly, Kate said, "It's a story unworthy of being told over a phone. Which, leads me to my favor..."

"What is it?"

"I am at my home. I ask that you visit me here, tomorrow. We'll have lunch." Her asking this of him could've passed for an ultimatum. Silence persisted at Dembe's end. "Dembe?"

"Yes-yes, Mum. I'll be there. Tomorrow, for lunch," he acquiesced. Knowing Kate, Dembe accepted taking the meal with her. It wasn't necessary that she go to the trouble, but his insisting that she didn't have to wouldn't have changed her mind.

"Good. Until then, goodnight. We'll have something you particularly like as a repast."

"Yes, Mum. Seeing you again will be good."

Kate, nodding, agreed; at last she would put his mind at ease. "It will be very good. Again, goodnight."

"Goodnight, Mum." When the call terminated, Dembe shut his eyes, thankful that Reddington had gone out on undisclosed business that didn't require his presence.

Kate placed the phone next to the nightstand lamp and turned off the light. If the plan she had was going to succeed, she'd need Raymond's trusted bodyguard's help, even in the face of the tremendous personal debt Dembe owed Raymond Reddington.


	7. Chapter 7 - This Means War?

" _Our stories are written in flesh._.." - Kathryn Nemec's father at her mother's funeral, 1962

...

"You've been busy," Red said, his face deadpan. His heart had almost stopped, but it beat strongly again. In the back of his mind, the thought tolled: _You know what she's capable of_.

Hearing Reddington's voice again sent shock waves through Mr. Kaplan's body. Its aloofness, its candor, the precise, clipped way he spoke brought back many ambiguous memories.

The Hunter's final words echoed in Kat's mind: ' _If this is the last time you hear my voice, know that I didn't give you up, and I didn't go down without a fight. You told me if he ever figured out you're still alive, he'd come at you full-bore. Well, lock and load, Katie-your war has come_!'

 _Indeed_ , flashed up in her mind. _Raymond, I'm bringing it, and when I'm through, you'll wish you had never planned my demise_...

"It was you who poisoned me, wasn't it, Kate." Red posed no question. He knew she'd done it, and he'd never seen it coming. How could he have? He'd thought he'd killed her, had left her for dead. As he'd told Elizabeth, he'd never thought to go check, confident that he'd succeeded, and briefly conscience-stricken too. He chided himself for having half-suspected that his loyal associate, Dembe, would've ever done such a heinous thing as murdering him.

Kathryn Nemec, yes. She was the cause of his empire teetering on the brink, set to tumble into the abyss.

"Yes, Raymond. It was I," she replied unmoved by the hitch she'd heard in his voice. "Cats envy you. You've cheated death far more than any feline, domesticated, or feral."

"As our furry, fierce carnivores should you, dear Kate. Bravo."

"You think I acted cruelly."

Even though he wasn't physically present, she felt his commanding presence, leeching across time and space, intent on swaying her so she'd see things as he saw them. His way.

"No crueler than I, shooting you down like a...how did you phrase it...ah, yes, a _mad dog_ ," Reddington retorted, with the burning desire of needing to see her again. By the way she spoke, he doubted very much that she would consent. "About those bodies no longer buried...logistically speaking-"

"That's something I don't intend elaborating on. Raymond, goodbye-"

" _Wait_!"

The smile on Kate's lips twisted, imagining that strong look of defiance of his she'd seen countless times. "I'm busy, as you said. I've still got so much more to do, as you can imagine." Her vision blurred as the onset of another migraine claimed her. So many pills she was forced to pop, no thanks to this man, who'd become her target. "I'm through talking. I mu-must..." Her head swam as she swooned. The horrific scarred gash in her head began violently throbbing. Her doctor had warned that these episodes would only get worse, over time. "Don't call me again."

"Before you go, there's something you should know," Red clamored.

Pain gripped the right side of her head, squeezing the eye, as it tortured her. "I only know we will _never_ see eye-to-eye about Masha, and now _her_ beautiful daughter. If Katarina still lived, she would side with me. You used her to satisfy your perverse lust! I saw her with you many, many times, always in the back of that official sedan, stealing illicit moments."

For a moment, Red was there, with Katarina, in the throes of passion as he made a mockery of his marriage.

"I'm Lizzie's father," he reminded. "You always conveniently forget that."

Kate sneered and said in a cold, acidic tone, "You don't know what you are to her. But, I do. You're _nothing_. But, you are a liar, a cheat and will always be a danger to _them_. Your only thought is to control them as you controlled Katarina. She often spoke of you when I was Masha's governess. You were nothing more than a fling, a distraction. You amused a confused, hot-blooded and hot-tempered, juvenile woman, who thought she was in control, but was repeatedly used by selfish, manipulative men."

"I loved Katarina," Red meekly protested, sheepishly eyeing the picture of Lizzie when she'd been a baby that he always carried.

"The only person you're madly in love with is yourself, Raymond," Mr. Kaplan railed, and paid the price. The trauma of her migraine sank its teeth into the right quadrant of her aching brain.

Her rancor cleaved Red's heart, pushing him to say, "Are we too far gone to admit to each other that we've made egregious mistakes along the way? Is there no hope of any species of reconciliation? I'm admitting to you now, that I failed you, Kate. I pulled the trigger before I knew what I was doing-"

"Liar!" Kate hissed, the air escaping her lungs like restless heat from an old radiator. "You knew what you were going to do with me the moment you invited me into the car!" From the depths of her heart and soul she indicted, "You meant to kill me, and that's what you thought you did. I've had all these months to plan my revenge, and in the words of a now dearly-departed friend, whom you've met and no doubt despise too-'Lock and load, Katie-your war has come.' I'm bringing it, Raymond, and there's not a thing you can do to stop me!"

"Ka-"

She'd made ending the call her final word, leaving Reddington hanging and to stew in his own fiery juices. Somber words he'd uttered just recently in hindsight flooded his mind and he exhaled in sobering reflection:

"Man's greatest enemy is the dark forces pent up inside himself. But not for me; my dark forces had a name: a person I trusted with the most heinous offenses of my life. Every trespass I committed, expunged, cleansed as if it had never happened. My confessor, who doth condemn me.. _._ "

Red quirked an eyebrow, thinking wryly out loud, "She never said she hates me...although, that most likely goes without saying."

Could there be any conceivable way of winning his resourceful, relentless, and yes, ruthless, just as he was, confessor back to the fold? Red rose from the chair and ambled over to the window for a contemplative look outside. His weary eyes fell upon the full moon. As clouds scudded by the glowing sphere, a greenish tinge shaded them. Raymond sighed and a faint smile appeared.

"I don't want you as my enemy, Kate...despite my fatuous, yes, I admit it. Stupid course of action. I was wrong. I shouldn't have tried to murder you." He hesitated, then said, "Lizzie, maybe it's time you knew...everything."


	8. Chapter 8 - Coming Out Of The Dark

Her parents had been traitors and she'd tried to kill her dad when she'd been in preschool. Just about everything she'd ever thought about her life was shadowy, so much still a mystery. Easy? The word was a joke. But at least Liz had her own daughter now, and had made her a vow that as her devoted mother, she would do everything and anything to ensure that Agnes would grow up relatively normal. Okay, well, at least well-adjusted, overall. Though having every intention of seeing that vow through, Liz knew it was sure to be an uphill battle.

In the back of Liz's mind, the nagging thought did its thing: _You've got to be kidding, when there're only uncertainties ahead._

It occurred to Elizabeth that it was Red and Kaplan who were currently grappling with the truth of who they really were.

How extraordinary, she considered. These were two people, needing to come to grips with the lives that they'd lived—lives that had, incredibly, revolved almost entirely around protecting her. How startling that notion. And, why her? Why was she the axis around whom these tumultuous events rotated, with no two orbits more in retrograde than those of Red and Mr. Kaplan?

As Lizzie slowly sipped her smooth-tasting herbal tea, a soothing blend of chamomile and Omija berry, she pondered some difficult truths. Most troubling was asking: Just where had such loyal devotion gotten them? She appeared to be no less at risk from the looming powers-of-evil-that-be than she'd been _before_ Red had decided to create an entire criminal empire for the sole purpose of protecting her. Who did that? Uh, Raymond Reddington, that's who. _Out-there_? Without a doubt; way, way out. What he'd done was practically the definition of the phrase.

Mr. Kaplan, or now as she'd recently learned from the grande dame herself, had once been known as Katia, had dedicated herself to help him keep Lizzie safe from a dangerous world out to get her. Katia had described to Liz what it had taken for her to have made such an incredible comeback. At death's door, but pulled out of it, spending time chained up, leaving her much time to meditate in the woods. Epiphanies, of sorts, had come daily. She was dealing with the truth of her life's work, freely accepting some accountability for the role she'd played in the disposal of eighty-six bodies, _at least_.

And Red…was doing what he excelled at: telling everyone else that he was right, and they were wrong forever and ever, doing it all with loads of mania and _flare!_

Sighing, Liz thought about how she'd felt, seeing Mr. Kaplan cradling Agnes in her lap, imagining her tracking down Red's associates, and he tracking down hers. She was taking 'cleaning up' to a whole new level. Even so, after what she'd told Liz, the new mother couldn't conceive of this spindly, and yet, not frail, highly-intelligent woman as being evil. She was motivated, and capable of being simultaneously creepy and caring. Hands down, Mr. Kaplan, Katia, was complicated, with a penchant for being dramatic, exactly like Reddington. Who would have thought to lay out 86 dead bodies with connections to Raymond Reddington on an ice rink and lead the authorities straight to them?

And...this complex woman had been her nanny not terribly long ago. Yes, Liz believed her, which made this difficult matter all the more knotty, mind-boggling, arrogantly onerous.

Letting her tea tantalize her tongue, Lizzy agreed with the consensus. Mr. Kaplan was highly Raymond Reddington-like. He, one of the most dangerous criminals in the Western Hemisphere, which she and her team had bargained with. If that information ever got out, they were going down. Julian, Don's former partner, seemed determined to get to the bottom of it all, working out the connections, piecing together the interactions that had gone on. Making it his personal mission to get Red, and get her as well. _Quirky guy_ , Liz thought as she drained her cup, with this troubling her most of all.

 _What happens to you, Agnes if I go down with Red? Would Kathryn, Mr. Kaplan, Nemec, methodical, cunning and crafty Kate, step up and volunteer to look after you, Baby? Would I consent allowing Red's 'Cleaner,' who's ahead of him, as things stand, dismantling our eccentric Concierge of Crime's empire piece-by-piece, to be your nanny_?

Talk about a complication of allegiances. The man, who seemed more like a father than her actual father had been, pitted against this woman, who'd also been like a mother, daily affirming at crib-side that Katarina Rostova's baby girl was: " _Safe, Loved, and Wise_..."

A moment later, after Elizabeth set her cup aside, her phone rang.

She rose from the button-tufted easy chair, since her phone lay on one of the two accent tables on either side of the couch, to answer it. She hoped that the disturbance hadn't awoken Agnes. No stirring, no whimpering, nothing to suggest that her baby had been roused, Liz breathed a sigh of relief.

"Where are you?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, not overly surprised seeing who it was.

"Hello, Dearie..."

Liz snapped to red-alert awareness, and asked with bated breath, "If I enter Anges' room will I find you there?"

"No. Suffice it to say, I'm near, and yet far, for the time being." A world away, Kate surveyed her well-appointed hotel room in a five-star historic building, in the heart of Vienna, Austria. The room's most eye-catching aspect was a marble fireplace topped by a Doric mantel. The Old World effect was stunning. The bone beige window shutters she'd opened before making this call treated her to an impressive view of this lighted area that was picturesque and tranquil. "Odd. Is life a domino effect, or a domino effect, life?"

"Is this what you used to do, Katia? Give me riddle, after riddle, after riddle when you looked after me?"

There was a brief sigh at the other end of the call. "Some days, there'd be riddles. Other days, there'd be guessing games you made up. You used to love them so very much." Abruptly, Kate said, "You still do."

"Not so much right now. It's getting harder all the time, solving all that needs to be put right. You're going to kill Reddington, aren't you?"

"I don't kill, Elizabeth. I clean up. You're familiar with my work, which I perform even more efficiently and inventively than ServPro. Like it never even happened, before it happens," she parried, as was her custom, like an aristocrat whose only option was to work for a living. "Raymond's past will be his undoing. His domain isn't as stable as he'd have mere mortals believe."

"But, why?" Liz croaked, her eyes beginning to glisten as tears welled up. "Why do this to him, like this?"

Hearing her upset, Mr. Kaplan said, "Yes. I know how much you love him, despite my having told you to walk away."

"No argument; what he did was horrific. The actions of a man suffering from temporary insanity. I still can't wrap my head around why he did it, let alone nearly succeeding. Words fail. I can't tell you enough how glad I am you survived. Know what he told me a short while ago? He didn't check to see if you were dead because he couldn't believe he'd really shot you!"

 _I do love him. I can't walk away. Even after all that's happened. Red means the world to me...he is, family_...flowed through Liz's addled mind.

"I know what he did to you is unforgivable," she continued. "I'm not so sure that I can forgive him for what he did to you, but...you're right. I love Red. I can't help loving him, Kate. Katia, I owe him my life...Agnes' too."

The pause was interminable, spun out, and out and out. Finally, after what felt like hours, Mr. Kaplan poignantly replied, "Ah, _Masha_. Sweet, sweet, adorable child. The apple of your mother's eyes, and mine. Your father's too. It's only right that you should love Raymond." A curious tension quivered between the long-distance connection between them. "After all..." The blunt smile on her face, literally miles away, was in her voice. " _He_ is your... _father_."

Lizzie's gasp broke the sound barrier. Illogically, or maybe not so much, shades of _Star Wars' The Empire Strikes Back_ flashed in her brain. Luke Skywalker flipping out on that windblown gantry. She flipping out here, in this safe-house of Red's idea of suitable living accommodations for her safety.

Liz's thinking was slow, gummy. " _He's what_!" she yammered, shocked to the core.

"Your father, _Dearie_. Always has been; always will be...even after he fades from your life. I'm working on his leave taking even as we speak."

' _Search your feelings...you know it to be true..." Darth Vader's voice tickled the deepest recesses of her brain_ , leaving Liz numb.

"How is that even possible?" she rasped, with fingers splayed across her chest at the base of her throat. They crept to her neck and clutched it.

"He'll tell you all about it, I'm sure. Once he knows you know. Offering you some muddled explanation why he's never told you after all this time. Well, _Masha_ , I must run. It's staggering the scads of things I must do, and there's so little time."

"But!" Lizzie bellowed into her mobile phone, "Katia!"

Mr. Kaplan was gone. Her input, for the time being, ended. The call, over.

Although Liz might have called her back, she didn't, staggering to the easy chair, falling into it like a sack of wet cement. At a loss for words, she felt lost, her heart thumping and her brain reeled sore from the hammer inside it working overtime. What should she do? Confront Red with what she knew, immediately? Or, hold off, keeping what she'd just learned a secret until it looked as though his date with disaster could somehow be postponed.

Throwing an arm across her face, Liz shut her eyes and drifted, swallowed up by information overload...

'Finding out truths about who you really are is never easy,' might as well have been written in Latin script on Lizzie's personal coat-of-arms. As far as she was concerned, it would be fair to think that one could wonder what she'd thought _before certain_ people had come into her life. These nebulous beings, who'd started telling her in dribs and drabs that she had been raised as a spy baby and had experienced kidnappings by the time she'd hit first grade.

Was it inevitable that this would be Agnes' story too?


	9. Chapter 9 - Collateral Damage

_"Every part of this little drama Kate is playing out as grand tragedy..." Red_

* * *

"Kaplan gave us the choice to abandon our relationship with Reddington and we didn't. Now she'll take every step necessary to dismantle the task force." Liz looked at Don, now a bewildered prisoner of the State. She knew the feeling; she'd been labeled as one herself not very long ago. She reached across the table in the room set aside for visits of an official nature to pat his hand. "Cooper's using his influence to get you out of here as fast as possible."

Ressler sighed, felt skeevy and out of his element. He was a prisoner, trying to make sense of what had happened. As if these formidable prison walls were closing in on him, he had no idea how any of this would just go away.

Thank goodness Liz had been allowed to see him. "What's going on? Anything else from..." His brow furrowed. The name he was trying to remember kept eluding him.

"Julian Gale...he's trying to throw a wrench in the machine," she replied knowingly and continued, sounding curt, "he's still being his unconventional, erratic self. He's like a woofing dog with a bone. He won't let go of the idea that he can prove I've been tipping off Red since day one. Helping him evade the law for years." Don's stiff, lifeless stares were getting to her. There was more animation in a corpse.

"Kaplan any closer to bringing him down?" Ressler asked flatly, breaking the silence that had inadvertently slipped in-between them. His jumbled patterns of thought seduced him. They'd done something to him, that's what Liz and everyone kept telling him. Why couldn't he remember?

As though emerging from a trance, one of her own making, Liz answered, "If she is any closer, I have the sinking feeling he, along with us will find out at the last minute. You're her first casualty. I hate to think who could be next. Red told me she told him that he couldn't change what he'd done, and he won't be able to stop what's coming."

She hated to think it, but the thought that she might be the next to fall was like a crater deepening in the pit of her stomach. Kate had once cared for her, protected her, but like the times, people changed too. Burning Red down to the ground and destroying the task force for its involvement with him, was her single-minded purpose for everything now.

Don's eyes beseeched Liz while taking both of her hands in his, as if he had so much to say, but wasn't able to say it coherently. Finally, he got what was on his mind out of his mouth. "Don't let Julian get to you. When he's on to something that promises to be upheaving he allows nothing to get in his way. Make sure you don't let him bully you."

It felt good squeezing her mind-altered associate's firm, rugged hands. "I won't. As Samar said after I smacked Krilov over the head, 'Definitely not pink and perfect.'" Liz actually gave Don a smile that bolstered his spirits. "You can count on having The Post Office still around to come back to. Kate's trying to take us out to make it easier to get to Red, but that's not happening. She's one tough opponent, but...we've got Red. The toughest player of them all." Frowning took command of her face. "Still...Kaplan is what Red said she is: an arsonist. Putting out all the fires she's starting is tremendously hard."

As best as he could manage under the circumstances, Ressler returned Liz's reassuring, supportive smile, still holding her hands like a lifeline. He didn't have to tell her; she knew. She wouldn't be ending her visit anytime soon. She saw how much he needed her to stay so she was going to. Not speaking, but just looking at her was a luxury. Don, the longer and deeper he looked at Liz, began feeling whole, like himself again.

When Liz smiled at him again, he returned the smile more readily than the first time. Having her here was helping. He couldn't tell her just how much he wished she could stay until he was cleared from all this mess and was free to go.

"Who's minding Agnes?" he asked with an eyebrow cocked, to show he still had at least a toehold in reality.

Pleasantly, Liz replied, "Samar. Out in the car. She said I could take as long as I needed, or should I say, _you_ needed, and then it's her turn to pay you a visit."

"Knowing you, Liz, I'm surprised you didn't get permission to bring Agnes in here too."

Her eyes twinkling, she said, "Oh, don't think I didn't try, but Samar suggested it might be better not to expose my baby to the inside of prison just yet."

"Wise woman that Samar."

"You and I both know that," Liz quipped while rubbing her thumbs over the surprisingly soft skin of Don's hands. "All she has to do is wise up about how much Aram loves her, and she loves him. She'll be right behind Einstein."

Although his present mental condition left him feeling like a fugitive from _Alice Through The Looking-Glass_ , Don chuckled. The look on his stubbled face made Liz feel a lot better compared to how she'd felt, seeing him like this when she'd arrived to have this visit.

"Thanks for coming, Liz."

"They'll never keep me away...Don."

* * *

Across the stormy Atlantic, on the way to Lausanne, Red set his Fedora atop the head of the cute, bubbly young boy riding with Dembe and him in the back of the truck. Red, in adrenaline-laced good spirits said to his powerfully-built, so often reticent associate, "This should be fun..."

"Yes, Raymond," Dembe replied, thinking about Kate Kaplan's request that Reddington meet with his former Cleaner. "Where do we find her?"

"That she hasn't disclosed, exactly, but I'm sure she won't keep us in suspense much longer."

The little brown-haired boy took Red's hat off of his head and began flipping it as he laughed. Red joined his laughter with the child's, the two having hit it off almost instantaneously. "Delightful youngster," he awarded, truly meaning it.

"Do you ever regret never having had a son, Raymond?"

Red looked at Dembe as scads of names, places, events and aftermaths tumbled in succession in his mind. Succinctly, he replied, "It's never too late to father children, dear friend." He clasped his hands, making a clapping sound, as if saying it was all settled. "I could adopt." His eyes fell upon the little boy again. "I wonder what this captivating lad would say to that?"

The boy, imitating what Reddington had just done, clapped his hands too and began laughing again. His laughter infectious, Red heartily joined in as though he hadn't any cares in his world of ebbing and flowing foreboding.

The truck rolled over a large bump in the road and the passengers in the back, young and older, alike, exclaimed various expressions of surprise as the sluing vehicle continued to thump and jump as it rolled on down the highway. The kids giggled in delight, while the senior passengers exchanged telling glances.

"Dembe..."

"Yes, Raymond."

"If misfortune overtakes me, you know what steps to take."

"I do...and I will. But...as you often say: 'Misfortune visits all who hesitate, Raymond."

"I do say that, and often. Let's hope I haven't waited too long."


	10. Chapter 10 - Prisoner

He blamed it on the enchiladas. He rarely had them, but felt like wrapping his mouth around some tonight. Of course he knew better, but they were what he'd wanted, and had them, he had. True, he'd overindulged, blaming having done so because of all that morcareina cheese. That cheese was pure nectar, and when it blended with bits of chiles, green onions and olives for the enchilada filling, resisting temptation was futile. Raymond's reward for eating what upset his stomach was a restless night. He hadn't tossed and turned this much in a very long time. Bicarb, which he'd taken a half hour ago wasn't doing the trick as quickly as he would've liked. His mind told him to wait it out. His stomach demanded he seek relief in some other form.

So...he took another crack at relieving his indigestion by imbibing a tumbler full of sparkling spring water laced with a little lime. A remedy Dembe said an aunt of his highly recommended. The bubbles tickled Raymond's nose and looking at the fizzy water in the glass relaxed him after the harrowing turn of events with Kate in the woods. Seeing her face to face was more satisfying instead of speaking with her over the phone. He wished they weren't at odds, pitting themselves against each other as they were now.

Downing the last of the water, he headed back to bed, hoping he'd be able to fall asleep. Fifteen minutes later, he was drowsy. Another ten went by and he was tucked well into the land of slumber. An hour passed and Raymond's subconscious controlled everything he dreamt, vividly. Sequences grew out of sequels that were crosshatched from variance and rearranged memories.

One chain of events in particular held Raymond prisoner. Shadows loomed, leeching from the past. Murky, yet graphic, what he'd done he had to relive and relive in this divergent dreamworld.

He opened the car door on his side.

Kate opened hers on her side.

Neither spoke, but both instinctively knew what places to take. She walking ahead of him; he trailing her, several paces behind.

Dembe stayed behind with the car, but only he spoke, and only to Raymond.

"No, Raymond. No. You must not do this. It is wrong, not worthy of you. You are better than this."

Dembe's words were like gnats buzzing about his ears. The farther away Raymond got from the car, the louder his words became.

Kate was standing by the pond, the surface of the water so still, it looked like a mirror. This mirror reflecting Kate's pinched, blank looking face spoke to her, but Raymond was unable to understand what it was telling her. Kate faced him suddenly, turning her back on the pond.

Raymond was holding his gun, aiming the muzzle pointblank at her head. But then, all at once, the gun pried itself free from Raymond's hand and sailed over to Kate. She caught the gun and momentarily pointed it at Raymond. In a flash, she brought the gun up to her head, with her eyes locked with Raymond's.

His dream-like voice echoed in the meadow. "Kate!" He held up his arms as though she still had the gun on him. "No! No! Don't! This isn't meant to be! It's not what's supposed to happen!"

Her voice hollow and small answered, "Isn't it? Raymond, isn't this what you wanted to happen to me all along?"

"Never," he stressed, fumbling as he took a few steps in closer."

Kate lowered the gun and once again, the weapon flew off, out of her hand to lodge in Raymond's again. He lowered his arms, just staring at the gun he again possessed. Or was the gun possessing him as his eyes scrutinized it and he felt bile rising up in his throat. His eyes began to sting as though tear gas tormented them.

"I don't want to do this," he wheezed, beads of sweat populating his brow.

"Yes. I know, but you will," Kate countered, holding her arms out to her sides. "It's what you think I deserve. Or, don't deserve because of the web we've spun."

Before he could contest that, the gun began lifting, taking his hand along with it. The muzzle stared Kate down. Before Raymond could gain mastery over the sinister firearm it went off. Its bullet hit its mark, boring into Kate's soft tissue. She never fell to the ground; she remained on her feet, staring at Raymond obliquely.

Running to her, he froze in shock, at her side. But before he could examine her head, the gun fired on Kate again. This bullet lodging deeper this time, in her forehead, and she toppled to the cold ground as Raymond cried her name.

There was no blood anywhere, like a venue where violence had occurred after she handled its sanitization.

The gun flew into the pond and a few moments later, Kate was back on her feet, standing, bearing no sign of any injury. A balmy breeze blew across their faces and Raymond wrapped his arms around her.

"I can't wake up, Katie," he murmured. "I've tried..."

His eyes filled with hurt and confusion. He had no more words, only what felt like sawdust caking his throat.

Sighing, allowing his embrace to cocoon her, she quietly replied, "You will, Dearie. Trust me...you will..." The gun flew out of the now swirling pond and crammed itself into Kate's free hand. Instead of bringing the muzzle up to Raymond's brow, she clutched it as hard as she could and, as if it were clay, she squeezed it until it no longer resembled a gun. "I'll help you."

Reddington awoke with a start, his forehead awash in sweat, as the darkness of the room he'd chosen to sleep in for that night closed in on him.


	11. Chapter 11 - Aftermath of Sacrifice

How else was it supposed to end? Regrettably, Kate had proven that she was a woman of her word. She would protect Lizzie with her life, and in the end, she gave it up for Masha Rostova. Memories profound, yet close to the surface of Red's brain swirled and interlocked. He knocked back more Chardonnay from his tumbler, his third glass. The white wine was superbly dry; he felt sad, knowing how much she would've enjoyed this exceptional vintage.

How had it all gone so terribly wrong, so horribly tragic?

Red muttered to himself since he was by himself. Dembe had gone off to visit his daughter, saying that he needed to see her after so much loss in Red and his wake.

"In the end, this is all my fault. I caused the irredeemable wreckage. So bittersweet, so avoidable, if I'd never pulled that trigger..."

He poured himself more wine from the half-empty bottle, and seemed to lose himself in the translucency of the greenish-yellow Chablis.

" _I loved you Raymond_..."

 **Of course she had**. No truer words ever spoken, which would haunt him the rest of his life. As he closed his eyes that were heavy due to lack of sleep, he wished he had it to do all over again. And what would he have done differently? Trusted that what she'd done for Lizzie had been in the best interests of them all? When the thought of killing her had surged through him, had risen up as something he had to do, he should've squashed it immediately.

He drained the tumbler and stared at the far wall of the room he was in as he lay on the bed that was still made. He was dressed in his tailor-made suit and for some odd reason, his hat sat upon his head. He hadn't planned on dozing off, but he did, slept lightly for a good twenty minutes. The dream he had, he seemed to be dreaming far too much of late, was a new one...

He was on the bridge Kate had leapt from. Seeing her body floating facedown in the river below, he called out to her.

She remained as she was...lifeless, like driftwood going with the flow.

"I'm sorry, Katie!" There was a 'reset' of sorts and he was being granted a 'do-over.' His dream-self reached over the bridge's railing, straining to grab her in the nick of time. His quickness paid off, grabbing her by the heel. His dream-self told her to, "Stop fighting me, Katie. I've got to save you! Save you from yourself. You don't really want to die! **I don't want you to die**!"

Dream-Kate Kaplan told him, "I don't believe you. I die, you'll never have to share Lizzie with me ever again. The tug-of-war ends. **You** win."

Dream-Red scoffed, "Not if you die. I lose." Pulling her into his arms, Red captured her, and despite her protests, she clung to him like a life preserver. "I'm never letting go-you hear me. You can't retire from this team."

"You wanted me dead," Dream-Kate sobbed in his arms.

"Yes, I did. But I was wrong. I should never have shot you." His dream-self hugged her tightly, his neck her niche so she could bury her face into it. Her crepey skin on his was comforting. "Please forgive me, dear, sweet, Katie..." His dream-self stood with her well away from the side of the bridge. Even in his dream, although he loved her, Dream-Red didn't trust her, fearing she'd try doing the same stupid thing again.

Dream-Kate was very still in his arms, and when she spoke, she trembled as her words echoed in his ears. "I forgive you, Raymond. On one condition..."

"What condition?" his dream-self demanded, though he spoke his words softly.

"You...forgive me..."

And he awoke with a start, perspiring, feeling fuzzy, and deeply unsettled, as though a rug had been pulled out from under him. He tingled and sat up in the Queen size bed. Disoriented, Red blurted the only words that made sense:

"There's nothing to forgive, dear, sweet, Kate. It was I who wronged you, whereas you never wronged me. For as long as I live... **I'll always love you**." He flicked his eyes to his phone on the night table, but failed to take it into his hand. It was pretty late, and Lizzie needed her rest. He'd visit with her and Agnes...tomorrow. There was so much time he'd lost he vowed he'd make up for. Lizzie was giving him the chance; he'd be a much bigger fool than the one he'd already been all the years he'd kept out of her life, if he didn't take her up on her generous, loving offer.

"I'll take care of Agnes and Lizzie for the both of us, Kate. You have my solemn promise..."


End file.
